The plot
by Le Ugly Artist
Summary: About a girl trying to come to terms with what she already know is inevitable. What happens when you let your guard down and think it is alright to wait for someone who will never come? Fleeting moments are never enough. What is behind the innocent demure of girl being ignored? Could it be that there was no future in what you relentlessly pursued?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto or any of the series of it. In fact, I have actually stopped watching it after it ended (before they started the whole Boruto thing).

 **A/N:** (This is long, please skip if you'd like to) So here I am, again. Sitting here with the ever constant writer's block.

How can I be inspired to write something when all I can think of is how messed up my life is right now. Am I supposed to get inspiration from the cluttered pieces of my degrading everyday life?

How can I even start? Should I scavenge through the piles of notes I have uploaded to my so called blog? Speaking of my dear blog, I need to check my works next time before I post them. So many grammatical errors. And even some sentences that doesn't make sense. Or wasn't up to my liking.

Anyway I got off topic, resuming to where I left off, how am I supposed to spin off a piece to my liking if I seem to have nothing to write? Could it be true? Is those facts, on how writers only mostly write about what is not happening in their lives, true?

Hah. Too many questions. I should just start writing and make up a story.

So all that follows after is and will always be fiction, completely unrelated to my life.

 _So here goes._

* * *

The sky was cloudy, the air cold, and the night still young as ever. But of course, university life isn't that poetic. But for that moment, it was poetic enough.

It was cold and damp on the roof of the teaching building where a girl, small and petite, shivered and clung onto her grey overcoat, wishing she had worn something warmer than the black leggings and converse she had on. In her left hand, she held her phone, quietly ringing. Or so she hoped.

Someone haven't called her yet, and she knows she shouldn't even be waiting for that call.

She cursed herself, shivering more. Her puffs of breathe kept her reminded on how cold it was and how she should be heading back.

She realize she was pacing only when she stopped and paused. Sighing, she lifted up her face, long wavy pink hair rolling off her back, as she look up at the dull copper colored sky. The sky was almost always either cloudy or covered with smog. The air in China was just too polluted. Sometime she gets lucky and find clear skies with stars. She only had time to look at the sky when it was night.

Tired and unsure, she goes back to her dorm. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she wears a dark teal green sweater, paired with her everyday black skirt, grey leggings with ankle boots. She feels dressed up for no reason as she goes and stands near the railing of the roof. Her spot. Phone ready in hand, wondering if he'd call. The night's as cold as it was yesterday. It seemed even more cold. Winter seem to be never ending even if it's almost March already. She thinks she has no dignity as she stares at her phone. Waiting for a call that she knew would never come.

Next day, red scarf, black coat over a violet and purple striped long sleeve top, jeans and an old fashioned but good enough open toed shoe. The air seemed warmer. Comfortable. She sniffed and took a sip of her Nai chaa (Milk Tea), her phone in her pocket, her senses waiting for a sign of any sound or vibration. She tries to get those thoughts off her mind, instead concentrating on the sounds of the busy campus noise. People going back home, sounds of oil sizzling in the dorms as some girls cook instead of eating out, people yelling into phone, loud enough to be heard but far enough for the words to come all muffled, the buzzing sounds of the heaters inside the tanks on top of the buildings as it begins to boil the water at exactly 6 pm, the soft conversations that floats up from the floors below.

Why is her mind still on that never coming phone call?

She is so pitiful.

Her lips were bruised, her hair a mess, and her shoulders hurt. Her day would get immensely better or immensely worst if that phone call comes. Which it never did. So her day remained in the middle of good and bad.

The boy was a tall one, with jet black hair; very matching to any clichéd character in some romantic piece.

He had a lovely face. Sharp eyes, with an even sharper nose.

Not everyone fancied him, or so they said. Too cute, or too rude, or not their type. But you could always see their eyes following him as he walks across the hallway, the way their eyes won't leave his face when he talks.

He is somewhat anti-social, just like her. But unlike her, he always manages to have these group of people following behind him if he wishes.

The day after, with a shirt that looks like an Oreo milkshake, and a black scarf around her neck, and black jeans and converse, she wearily looks at a Chinese guy with his phone stuck to his ear, talking endlessly. She didn't realize it before but a lot of people came up there. 6:14 pm and still no call. But of course, she knew it was inevitable.

Why in the world would she get a call?

* * *

 _A/N: I should really complete this._

 _If you read the summary again, maybe you will be able to grasp a bit more meaning about the story. If not able to, I am sorry._


End file.
